


Confrontation

by OccasionallyCreative



Series: Such Horrible Things [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence - The Great Game, F/M, Identity Reveal, Mystery, Swaplock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 15:30:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1515590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OccasionallyCreative/pseuds/OccasionallyCreative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly Hooper, consulting detective, has always believed herself a step ahead of the rest of everyone. So what happens when she meets a better class of criminal? (Prequel to The Most Human)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confrontation

When she entered, the pool was quiet. Slowly, Molly Hooper stepped forward. She held her hands behind her back. Missile plans in one, gun in the other. She gazed around. Nothing particularly out of the ordinary. The water rippled and lapped in the pool. Blue mosaic lines twisting their shape. Molly cleared her throat.

“Hello," she said. She held up the missile plans, clutching tighter on the gun. "A little, um, ‘getting to know you’ present.”

Still nothing. Just silence.

“Come on," Molly said to the empty swimming pool. "This is what everything’s been for, isn’t it? All your little puzzles… All to distract me," she murmured.

Behind her, a door opened. Molly turned. She felt her features drain. Felt her fingers shake around the gun. The intruder’s name stumbled from her mouth.

"Mary…”

“This is a turn-up, isn’t it Molls?”

No. Molly let her hand drop back down to her side. She adjusted her grip on the gun. Mary was far too calm. She was a soldier, after all, trained in the art of warfare.

“Bet you never saw this coming,” Mary said, her voice still that same monotonous tone. Taking a long, slow breath, she pulled apart the bulky parka coat she wore. She let it sink against her sides. Just like the others, a bomb was strapped to her chest. It was large enough to blow the whole building.

Mary swallowed. Her eyes remained straight ahead. “What would you like Mary Morstan to say next?”

Molly edged closer to the veteran doctor. There must have been at least one sniper in the vicinity. Her eyes zeroed in on the roof, scanned the upper floors. There was nothing, no-one to be seen.

“Gottle of geer,” Mary said flatly. “Gottle of geer, gottle of geer—”

“Please, stop it."

“Nice touch this. The pool, where little Carl died. I stopped him.” The red light of a sniper’s rifle rested on Mary’s chest. A false brightness entered her tone. “I can stop Mary Morstan too. Stop her - her heart.”

Enough. Molly spun on her heel, eyes still on the upper floors.

“Who are you?”

Behind her, the back door swung open. The familiar sound of a man’s shoes echoed around the building. Molly turned. Her heart sank in her chest. The man at the door smiled and tilted his head. His blue eyes glittered.

“Three years," he drawled, "and only now do you see me.”

It was Sherlock Holmes. But instead of the baggy jeans, the hooded sweaters, he wore now a dark-coloured suit. His shirt collar was buttoned up, a tie around his neck. His unkempt black curls were slicked back. Cool, elegant. Molly glanced towards his shoes. Black Oxfords, polished. On first meeting him, awkward pathologist more suited to the quiet of the morgue than the rush of the outside world, she'd noted how clean his shoes, though they were only old trainers, had been. She'd put it down to a lack of social life. 

 _Always something._ Sherlock stepped forward, moving out of the shadow of the door. His attention was fixed straight on her.

“Thought you’d be more pleased to see me, Molly.”

Raising her arm, she aimed the gun at his head. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. 

“I'd give you my name," he said into the silence of the swimming pool, "but you already know that.” She gave no reply. Shrugging, he continued walking. His hand reached up to his shirt, unbuttoning the collar. Both of his hands worked at the tie, tugging it from around his neck.

“No, _Sherlock_? The pathologist?" He stuffed the tie into his trouser pocket. A grotesque smile flicked at the corners of his mouth. He undid the second button. "The man who’d do anything for a smile from the great detective, Molly Hooper? Yes, well… about that.”

“Why?” He wanted her to ask the questions; he wanted her curiosity.

His smile grew into a grin. “Every princess needs a charming prince, don’t they?”

“I suppose it depends on what fairy tales you read.”

“True,” he said. He pressed his finger to his mouth in a mocking gesture of thought. "Let's think of it this way: you’re a consulting detective, and I’m—”

“A consulting criminal,” Molly finished. She couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Quite brilliant.”

“If you say so. Certainly... no-one ever gets to me,” he said, aiming his piercing gaze at Molly once more. He nodded towards Mary. "Unlike your little pet here. Got to you quite quick, didn't she?"

A part of Molly still struggled to wrap her head around what was before her. This Sherlock and the Sherlock she knew were two different creatures, two different species almost. One a boy, the other a man.

“ _I_ did,” she said finally, clearing her throat.

He almost appeared sympathetic. “You really think that? No, Miss Hooper, you didn’t even scratch the surface. You did come quite close, though, if that’s any comfort to you. But now you’re in my way, which is rather unfortunate.”

“Thank you,” Molly said with a smirk.

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“It was.”

His grin served as confirmation of her statement. He took another step, just as Molly did the same. The gun was barely a centimetre from his skin, aimed squarely at his forehead.

“The flirting is over Miss Hooper," Sherlock said, arching an eyebrow. "I’m rather... tired of this dance.”

“What if I’m not?” asked Molly, tilting her head.

“Here’s a friendly warning.”

Before she could answer or do anything, he reached forward and pushed her arm to her side, his other hand curling around her waist. He tugged her forward, his hand still at the wrist, fingers tracing over her knuckles, the grip she had on the gun. His hand at her waist spread over her back, fingertips dancing over her spine until they sank into her hair. He smiled and captured her mouth. The kiss was bruising, passionate, a tenuous connection severed. Sherlock the pathologist, the one who'd always, halfway through a conversation, stared at her lips and forgot what he was saying. She'd liked that habit, encouraged it. She thought if she let him flirt, she could have an ally. Someone who'd give up body parts for experiments while waving away the paperwork; who'd defend her when someone questioned her presence at an autopsy.

He broke away, still holding her wrist, his hand still in her hair.

“I have loved this, though. This little… _the game_  that we’ve played together,” he murmured. He flicked his gaze up to meet hers.

“Did you like the touch with Iris from IT?" His lips brushed over hers, his teeth ghosting over her bottom lip. "Jealousy becomes you, princess."

“People have died,” Molly said. Her voice was cold. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Oh, but that’s what people _do_." He let her wrist free, slipped his fingers from her hair. Molly hurried to re-aim the gun at his head. "I don’t know why you’re showing sympathy now. You haven’t done so in the past.”

This Sherlock was so very cold, so detached from the world.

“I will stop you. I can stop you,” she said into the silence.

He let out a short, sharp laugh. “Well, obviously, you can. Just like you could’ve shot me as soon as I walked through that door.”

The truth of his statement rang. Molly glanced to Mary, scanning her features. She was still blank-faced. “You alright?”

When she didn’t say anything in response, Sherlock sighed.

“You can talk, Miss Morstan.”

Mary was still silent. Her only reply was a slight nod of the head. Molly focused back on Sherlock. The charming prince to her princess. She held out the missile plans. That was what this whole evening was for, after all. It was better for them to just get it over and done with.

“Take it,” she said quickly. Sherlock’s eyebrows rose up, surprise in his cold look.

“Oh. The missile plans." He offered out his palm. "How very sweet of you.”

“Just take them,” Molly said through gritted teeth as she pressed the memory drive into his palm. For a few seconds, he twirled it around his fingers in examination. Turning on his heel, he threw them into the pool. He grinned widely at Molly.

“Dull. If I wanted those,” he drawled, "I've had ample opportunity so far, wouldn't you say?" 

Suddenly, Mary moved. Leaping up at him, she held him from behind, her arms wrapped around his neck. Sherlock's grin widened. Mary held him tighter, the flash of violence in her eyes.

“If your sniper pulls that trigger,” she hissed, “we'll both go up.”

Sherlock laughed. “Good try Miss Morstan, but, well—”

Molly didn’t even need to look at Mary to realize that another sniper had now taken aim at her.

"Mary..." Molly said slowly. The red dot darted down to her chest. Molly stared down at it, looking up into Mary's eyes. "Let him go." 

The veteran doctor obeyed. She stepped back, holding her hands up behind her head. Nonplussed by the threat, Sherlock brushed himself down. He adjusted his collar, cleared his throat.

"I suppose you already know what will happen if you don’t leave me alone.”

“Oh,” Molly said drily, "let me guess. It involves dying.”

“Mm, not quite I’m afraid. If this was any normal situation, admittedly, I'd kill you on the spot, but this is far from a normal situation, now is it?" Sherlock scanned her. "No, I think I’ll keep you. Let you watch as Rome burns.”

“That’s sentimental of a man who claims to be a psychopath.” She cocked an eyebrow. The aftershock of his kiss lingered on her mouth. “Early wedding present, perhaps?”

“I think you’ll find I don’t claim to be anything,” he replied.

Molly adjusted the position of the gun, holding it with both of her hands as she aimed it at his chest. “What if I just shot you?" she asked. "Right here, right now?”

Sherlock sighed. He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, giving her a cool look.

“Frankly, I’d expect a little better from the world’s first and only consulting detective.” He glanced down at his feet before he brought his gaze back up to hers. “Though I do look forward to seeing you again, Molly Hooper. I’m sure it will be a lot of fun.”

Pursing his lips, he turned and the whistle that floated from him echoed around the pool, in time with his footsteps. Molly’s heart sank lower as she watched him go, but for what reason, she was yet to figure out. When the door slammed closed, she finally moved.

Darting towards Mary, she ripped the coat from her shoulders, blurting out demands. 

“Tell me you’re okay. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine! Jesus…” Mary breathed. She stumbled forward, leaning against the wall as Molly shoved the explosives as far away from the both of them as she could.

She continued to move, checking every exit and entrance she could. Her mind raced. How - how - had she not seen it? How had she let him slip by for so many years? He'd played it so well, and she'd had fallen for it. She'd brushed him under the carpet, compartmentalised him as nothing more than what he presented. She'd always been destined to make a mistake, sooner or later.

“You know,” Mary said as Molly returned to the pool, crouched against the wall, breathing slowly, “you - ripping my clothes off - people will probably talk.”

“Let them,” Molly said dismissively, her eyes still darting around the room. Behind her, Mary gave out a giggle, which soon dissolved into a laugh. Molly found herself joining in.

Mary's laughter didn't fade but shut off.

“Molly.”

Her voice was clipped now. Short. Afraid. Molly looked to her.

A red sniper’s light hovered at Mary’s chest. Molly glanced down at herself. It was there. The same red light, a whole nest of them, hovered over her chest, heart, head and stomach. All four pressure points.

A low chuckle sounded behind them. A door slammed open.

“ _So_ sorry about this,” Sherlock said. His voice was jovial. “I've been thinking - however entertaining you might be, you can’t really be allowed to continue. Inconvenient I know, but a necessity.”

Molly let out a slow, steadying breath. Her gaze flicked towards Mary, who nodded once. She trusted her. In all their dealings thus far, she had trusted her implicitly and explicitly. She hoped she’d continue to trust her now.

“Well, if I can’t be allowed to continue—” Molly cocked the safety of the gun. She turned. The red lights of the sniper guns were all over her now. A smile hovered at her mouth. “Neither can you.”

She lowered her hand. Her aim focused on the explosives, still waiting patiently to be detonated.

Molly Hooper, the consulting detective, took one final look at the man in her way. The consulting criminal, Sherlock Holmes.

They both smiled.


End file.
